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Hello there, lovers! Are we are all looking forward to tonight’s episode of The Bachelor?

You know, to be honest, Rico and I are having mixed feelings because the last few episodes have shown exactly the depths of depravity the producers are capable of sinking to, and if they continue in this fashion they might just put us out of business.

First of all there was poor, old Laurina’s date in which, rather than being taken to a secluded island or wined and dined in a five-star restaurant, she was thrown out of plane and filmed looking like a rapidly deflating inflatable Jackie Stallone.

Then there was Louise, who, after already suffering through the exposure of the group date pool party, should NEVER have been the one chosen to strip off for the yacht date. But of course she was which, you guessed it, meant plenty of opportunity for photos like this:

I mean, come ON producers! Jessica has avoided the cellulite assessment TWICE and (other than Chantal who was forced to display her dangling mammories at the pool party, and Amber who could have a body like Adriana Lima and still make hardened criminals pray for dismemberment – starting with their eyes) she’s really the only one who looks like she might just have a fledgling obsession with burgers.

In fact, when you think about it, the only ones who’ve had dates that don’t show up their worst features have been Jess and Slutty Sam, because that diner did NOT have the traditional fluorescent lights and at no point was she invited to strip off her foundation for a zit-count.

But we digress. The final straw, of course, was the introduction of the ‘datecrashers’ – six slathering beasts who still had the choke-chain marks on their throats, and who caused such a stir in the house that Laurina got teary, Slutty Sam got Blake-related laryngitis, and Amber – well – here’s Amber greeting the new Bachelorettes:

And here’s Amber a few seconds later:

It was, of course, all a careful ploy because as we pointed out in our last post the datecrashers weren’t exactly fresh off a Vogue spread and Rico reckons if there’s a fashion rag out there that would take them it would probably be that one in Tasmania that turns a blind eye to inbreeding.

Anyhoo, as we all know, when Blake tried to hide behind a proffered rose, she grabbed him in a wrestler’s hold and then employed her patented power-stalk off stage. After a quick conversation with the producers where they confirmed that if he let her leave then, yes, he’d have to give an extra rose to either Anita II or the one with the smile that looked like it was carved with a hatchet, he chose to scuttle on after her and beg her to hang in there.

Which naturally she did because her prospects back in the real world can now be counted on a single non-existent hand.

On a side note, Rico reckons we should probably be a little more careful when it comes to speaking about Amber’s multiple physical deformities, because one of them is legs that look like they could kick the living shit out of a concrete testicle and still have enough power take on Godzilla – and do we really want to be walking down a dark alley one night and see those?

Anyhoo, getting back to our original point about the producers’ increasing knack for testing the boundaries using small children, we’re a little worried about the potential of one of the datecrashers in particular. This one:

She’s the one we identified as being slightly Claire Danes-ish, if Claire Danes was brunette and looked capable of tearing a Yellow Pages with her vagina. And although the previews are all about how Blake might just be about to pash Jess in front of Laurina (and we admit we may just have been watching a little too much of The Walking Dead), we have a feeling things with this one might end badly.

Speaking of Laurina, we’ve noticed a fair bit on social media about how much ‘chemistry’ there is between Blake and the Goddess of Botox, which has got us wondering: are we BLIND? Because if that is true, were we wrong about netballer Holly? Were they truly the Noah and Ally of Bachelor who were torn apart by the Gods of paralyzingly dull sport? And could this mean we’re wrong about that kiss with Louise too? Let’s look at it again, shall we?

I mean, what WE see is Blake sealing his lips tightly against an onslaught of lobster-breath and hoping to God the producers start playing the ‘wrap it up’ music – but are we just too drunk to detect sexual napalm when it’s exploding in our faces?

Oh it’s all just so confusing, and when we’re confused we usually try to turn our minds to other matters, such as whether we’ve got enough port to make it through the night and whether Toadfish from Neighbours is the worst actor in history, or the worst actor in history with a ginormous penis.